THERE are sounds of mirth in the night air ringing, And lamps from every casement shown; While voices blithe within are singing, That seem to say " Come, " in every tone. Ah! once how light , in Life's young season, My heart had leapt at that sweet lay; Nor paused to ask of greybeard Reason Should I the syren call obey. And, see the lamps still livelier glitter, The syren lips more fondly sound; No, seek, ye nymphs, some victim fitter To sink in your rosy bondage bound. Shall a bard, whom not the world in arms Could bend to tyranny's rude control, Thus quail at sight of woman's charms And yield to a smile his freeborn soul? |